Mr Fix It
by Sweet Valentine
Summary: A late night drinking session draws out the most unusual of conversations between two begrudging Turks... [One shot, drabble, slight language warning]


**Random late night musings. One shot and drabble (eh, kind of). PG-13 for a few swear words and alcohol. Just read it, and hopefully you'll get it. **

"It's funny," she shook her blonde hair from her face, "I never expected to be sitting here talking about this with _you._"

Her partner hesitated replying as he reached for his drink. "I suppose this is not of normal circumstance…" he swirled the amber liquid about the glass, before raising it to his finely curved lips and sipping.

She reached for her own glass as well, swishing down its contents, then sighing heavily. They sat in silence for a few moments. She opened her mouth to speak again, but hesitated, thinking, before shutting it again. He noticed.

"Yes, Elena?"

"It's amazing, how some people can just naturally pull certain conversations out of you." She motioned for the server, pushing her now-empty glass across the smooth surface of the counter. The drink was refilled. She took a few sips before continuing. "I mean, I would never be able to talk to Rude or Reno about this."

He smirked, his long black tresses falling slightly in his face. A gold claw pushed the hair out of his eyes before he answered, "They talk back. What you need is someone who can simply listen."

"Well, I'm grateful." She mocked toasted him, before swigging down more alcohol.

"Take it for what it's worth," he shrugged. She chuckled slightly.

"Sounds like something Cid would say."

"It is."

They fell in to a comfortable silence, and she slipped back into her thoughts, casually brooding, biting on her lip.

"Elena."

"It's hard to not think about it." She said, in quiet exasperation.

"Heartbreak is funny like that."

"What am I supposed to do now? Move on? Find someone else?" She drank. "I can't keep doing it, Vincent. You _know_, you were once a Turk. We don't do well with relationships."

"Then stop looking for relationships."

She groaned, muttering something under her that sounded greatly like, "Stupid, men are just stupid," and he suppressed a smirk.

"It's just…" she trailed off, taking another sip. "It's just that all my life _that_ is how I've coped. I've found someone to be with. Someone to help me forget." Drink. "I don't like going through man after man, like some stupid whore, or Scarlet or something." Drink. "Ugh, maybe that's all I am, a whore."

"You're a person who's made mistakes. We all have."

"…I don't want that." Her voice was low. "I don't want that life, I want something more… substantial."

"Then quit."

She stared.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" She deadpanned. "You don't quit the Turks."

"Maybe not back in my day," he finally drew his glass back to his lips, tilting the liquid into his mouth briefly, then lightly smacking his lips in contentment, "but the Turks are hardly what they were. Things have changed – there's no reason you can't too."

She stared at him hard. Then, she laughed. She laughed, but it was hollow and empty and dead. "So, I leave the Turks. Then what? I settle down, maybe pop out a few children, that's what I do then, huh?"

"Change doesn't have to be so drastic. But you shouldn't let your career dictate the person who you are." He drained his glass. "Believe me, I know."

She thought about his words. "But," her voice was, for the first time since he had known her, small. "Who would have me?"

"You're an attractive, intelligent woman, Elena. Don't sell yourself short."

"You don't understand, Vincent!" She barked. "I don't go for the 'good' guys. I don't go for the men who won't hurt, I always make bad choices." She cradled her head in her hands, rubbing at her eyes. "Name one guy I know, that's available, that isn't like that."

He thought for a moment. "And don't say you," she snapped. She thought she heard what could only be described as a laugh.

"Trust me Elena, I wasn't going to. It would be a horrible mismatch." She snorted. "…I'm far more fucked up than you." That provided her a small comfort.

They fell into silence again, but it didn't last long. He dared to inquire.

"What about Reeve?" She bolted upright.

"Reeve?" She asked, incredulously.

"Why not?"

She chuckled a little. "…It's just… well, you don't exactly always think of _Reeve_, you know?" He tilted his head slightly, and she explained. "He's no hero, like you or Cloud or whatever, and he's not the life of the party like Cid, he's just kind of… I don't know, there."

"Hmm. Sounds exactly like what you're looking for, then," he replied, sardonically. She was not amused, but instead of replying motioned to the bartender for another refill, and then consumed it angrily.

They sat in more silence, and she grudgingly tried not to reveal that she was actually mulling his proposition. Realizing he wasn't fooled, she admitted, "I like Reeve."

"As do I," he shifted slightly. "He's a likeable man."

She considered her thoughts. "He's the kind of guy you root for. He knows what he believes in, and his does his best to help everyone." She snorted. "Poor guy thinks more about others than he does of himself."

"It's an admirable quality." He noted. She smirked.

"I suppose so. Makes me wanna give the guy a chance."

"Then why don't you?" Vincent quipped, dryly.

"It goes back to what I said before," she dragged the hair from out of her eyes. "I'm not the kind of woman he goes for. I've been, well, around, I guess. I'm," she faltered, looking for the right word. "I'm damaged.

"And Reeve's the kind of man who repairs broken things."

For the first time that night, she met his eyes, and she looked at them long before finally answering, sardonic herself, in her own right.

"Mr. Fix-It."

"Exactly."

They finished their drinks in silence, before Vincent footed the tab (she protested, but he ignored her). He walked her home then, again ignoring her protests (chivalry was an act of habit back in his day), and when they arrived at her front door, he said, "I trust you have his number." He was met with a slight, non-committal nod. "I wouldn't call him tonight, it's late. Maybe tomorrow, though." She made an irritated face at him, but he simply bowed his head. "Goodnight, Elena."

"…'Night, Vincent." She replied, turning into the house, shutting the door, and clicking the lock behind her.

**Don't ask. Really… don't ask. There are so many things going on with this I can't address. Who has broken Elena's heart? Why is it she's sitting in a bar with Vincent-bloody-Valentine of all people? I really honestly don't know the answers. Actually, the last few lines came to me while I was curling my hair (I know, weird muse), and I thought, "hey, those are too good to pass up". And then it came to actually writing, and I find I put in too much exposition (thus, making this not the original drabble I intended it to be), but not enough answers. Ugh.**

**So, yeah, this can be original game canon or not. Tseng could be dead – or if you want to follow AC, he could have just dumped Elena. I tried to leave it purposefully vague so that I wouldn't be too responsible for events I am not quite sure of (I haven't played Dirge and the others), while not alienating people who like OGC and stuff. Anyway, I hope you like it/don't hate it/at least get it. Bah.**

**Read and review please! I'll give you cookies! And who doesn't like those?**


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